


Robin War

by throwntotheair (eloquentelegance)



Series: the friends theme song [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), We Are Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alfred makes so many mistakes, Dick makes so many mistakes, Fix-It, Gen, Poor Damian, Pure Salt, Salt, all of the Damian feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquentelegance/pseuds/throwntotheair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They forgot about him. They replaced him, not with one Robin, but dozens.</p><p>Damian returns to Gotham and finds his name given away to just about every kid in the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel

“I was under the impression that one would have to quit or to have died in order to be replaced,” Damian says, in lieu of a greeting

He’s standing in the kitchen. Alfred’s by the sink, sleeves rolled up. He’s missing a hand now. What? Just what happened while he was gone?

“Master Damian,” Alfred replies. “When did you get here? Did Master Bruce see you?”

Damian buries a flinch. “No. I was careful.”

Alfred breathes a sigh of relief. Damian feels a heat burning in the back of his throat, pricking at the corner of his eyes. He swallows, a scribble buried in his chest, right between his lungs. The air sticks in his mouth, drying up his tongue, making it difficult to move. He speaks anyways.

“I suppose this is what Drake must have felt. My father is gone. There is a new Batman on the streets. And a Robin to replace the old one. Though in my case, several Robins.”

He hears Alfred swallow - hears because he cannot bear to look at him. He doesn’t know what he would see on the old butler’s face and it terrifies him. He inhales deeply, ashamed of the little hitch in his breath when doing so.

“I didn’t quit, Pennyworth. And I was alive. You, my father, they all brought me back. Or did you forget?” There’s a bite to his last words, a sharpness. Damian isn’t so sure he meant for that. He isn’t sorry. “I was going to come back, Pennyworth. My business would take a year at best, but I was going to come back. I was going to come home.”

“Sir, please, I just did what I felt was necessary.”

“So you gave my name to a bunch of street urchins green behind the ears?!” Damian makes no attempt to lower his volume.

“Sir, I understand you are upset, but kindly lower your voice. Master Bruce might hear.”

Damian breathes in, and in, and in, short little bursts of air. But it feels like he’s not breathing at all. He’s embarrassed to realize he’s shaking. His shoulders tremble, his hands open and close, grasping at some semblance of assurance like the child he swore to himself he would not be. 

But he is in his home, in the warmth of a kitchen so familiar it aches in his bones. He spent many evenings here, seated at the counter, just listening to Alfred prepare meals, watching his brothers flit in and out. It was a steady, sure thing, their voices rolling over him like the distant sound of rain, the cookware clanging the rhythm to some unwritten melody. And Alfred, with his sure hands and carefully amused smile, always within reach if Damian ever needed him. 

This is a safe place. This old man told him so. He promised him so. Damian can be a child here if he wants. If he lets himself. And he wants to be little, just for moment, a breath, a beat of his heart. He wants to be little for a little while.

“I was gone for three months, Pennyworth,” There’s a tremor in his voice. He viciously does not care. “Three months at the most. And I come back to find half the children of Gotham running around with my name. My father no longer remembers me. And I can’t even use the front door of my own home! Why? What happened?” He licks his lips, bowing his head in a truly shameful display of weakness.

Then softly, with such a small voice, Damian asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

He hears Alfred gasp. He counts down from ten. But the silence is deafening. Incapable of waiting for an answer, Damian turns, fleeing out the backdoor. He ignores Alfred calling his name. Running past the backyard lights, the night swallows him whole.


	2. Robin War pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fix it for the issue end

([Prequel](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/137475774668/prequel-to-robin-war))

(fix-it for the end)

“So little time. So many pretenders,” Damian growls, pushing past Red Hood and Red Robin. “Move. I’m hunting Robins.”  


“Stop,” Hood tells him, seizing his shoulder. “We know. That’s why we’re here. These kids are just trying to do right. Going after them isn’t going to fix that. We need to _help_ them.”  


Damian turns to him, a look of sheer incredulity on his face. “ _Help_  them?”

“Or... At least _understand_ them. Right, Jay?” Red Robin cuts in.  


“Help them,” Damian says again. “You want to help them. And what exactly do they need help with? Dying an early death?”

“Look!” Red Robin yells out. “Obviously, we’ve got a lot to discuss.”

“We don’t have to discuss anything. I’m ending this travesty tonight!”  
  
“And how exactly do you propose to do that?” Red Robin snaps. “Beat every costumed kid to oblivion?”  


“Clearly as you can see, I was well on my way to doing just that before I was interrupted.” Damian shrugs off Hood’s hold on him. “I say it again. A last time before I break you. Move. I don’t take orders from the Red Hoody and Inbred Robin.”  
  
“Yeah, I know that much,” Hood shakes his head. “ _And_  I know who you _do_ take orders from. I just figured it would be best if we all called him together.”  


“You didn’t figure that. _I_ figured that. _You_ wanted to clunk Damian over the head and tie him to your chopper.”

“I honestly wish you did. I’d prefer head trauma over a conversation with you two idiots. The effect is summarily the same but at least in one instance I would not be awake to suffer.”  
  
“Hey, if you want me to knock you out, brat. You just say the word.”  


Damian turns to Hood, eyeing him speculatively. Then he shakes his head. “No. Science has yet to prove stupidity contagious, but I’d rather not take risks.”

Hood huffs out a laugh. “What’s that? You want me to punch you repeatedly in the face?”  


“Enough, both of you,” Red Robin barks out. “Let’s just call Agent 37 and get moving. We’re wasting time just standing here, snarking at each other.”


	3. Grayson #15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fix it for the Dinner Scene

Damian would never admit it, not even on the cusp of death. But he had nursed a hope, a tiny fluttering thing like the wings of a moth and just as fragile. He had hoped Grayson would be on his side. Surely, he thought, Grayson would adhere to reason and sanity, unlike Hood or even Red Robin. Those two have apparently lost whatever scraps of sense they had left. And they didn’t have much to begin with.

Listening to Grayson now, Damian feels his hope burn. He had flown too close to the light only to learn the light has heat and hurts. 

There’s a full table of snacks and drinks before him. He is rightly famished after his long journey and subsequent brawl. But he can’t find his appetite, not with what he’s hearing. Grayson is proposing they train these wannabes, these posers.

“… How could we possibly train them?” He hears Drake ask. His incompetence is staggering. He can’t even ask the right questions. 

“It’s not _how_ , Drake,” Damian sneers. “It’s _why_. Why do we need to train these impostors?”

“Oh my god,” Todd groans. scrubbing his face. “Now is not the time to be territorial. Every Robin gets replaced, brat. Get over it.”  


Damian breathes in sharply, feeling heat curl up his neck and sweep across his cheeks. He snarls wordlessly, glaring at Todd. “That. Does not. Answer. My question.”

“They need to learn how to fight,” Grayson says carefully, as if he’s some schoolmarm and Damian a schoolboy. “These kids have guts. They have potential.”

Damian bares his teeth. “A _dog_ has potential. You can teach a dog to fight. The question is not if they can. The question is if they should.” He slams his hands on the table, rising to his feet. “Why am I the one saying this? Why do I even have to say it? You should know. You should all know! You taught it to me! We’re _superheroes_ for a reason! We fight so no one else has to!”

“They’re just trying to do the right thing! They want a hope they can hold on to, a difference they can see, a purpose to own!” Todd says. “These kids need to be Robin!”

“Yes, because that worked out so well for you,” Damian snaps. “You died, Todd.”

“Worked out great for you though, Demon Spawn,” Todd casually fires back.

“You were a civilian before you were ever Robin. I never had that luxury. I’ve never set foot into society prior to coming here. What were they going to do? Send me off to a correctional facility and pray? These children are not like me!”

“No one is like you,” Drake murmurs, fingers massaging his temples. He looks like a put upon parent dealing with his child’s temper tantrum. 

“Precisely," Damian spits out. “Surely if these children need help, as you claim they do, there must be a better way than to turn them into child soldiers.”

“We aren’t soldiers, Damian,” Grayson says.

“We may be fighting against crime, but it is still a war, and we the primary fighters. That makes us soldiers. And I cannot believe you are even entertaining the idea of teaching civilian children - _civilian children_ , Grayson - how to fight. Aren’t we supposed to be protecting them precisely so they do not need to learn violence?”

Damian breathes heavily, glaring at his - his so-called brothers. Drake furrows his brow, appearing to contemplate his words. Todd takes a vicious bite of his snack, but says nothing. Grayson... Grayson is studying him, his expression difficult to read. Their silence prompts him to continue speaking. 

“I have learned nothing but fighting my entire life. I know the way my father looks…” He falters here, swallowing thickly. “… looked. My father looked at me like I was broken because I didn’t know the intricacies of baseball or some other inane sport. And here you are, entertaining the thought of training these children. I thought we were supposed to be protecting them! So, they wouldn’t… So, they wouldn’t turn out like me.”

Damian inhales sharply, and wills himself to look everyone in the eye. He tries not to feel like he just broke open a vein just to show everyone he bleeds. The looks his brothers give him engender a sensation of shattered obsidian. Their pity tastes like rust and iron in his mouth. 

“Damian,” Grayson breathes and the tone of his voice makes Damian want to smash something, preferably Grayson’s face.

“…Am I not example enough?” He says, taking pride in the steadiness of his voice. “Am I not enough? Am I so inadequate that you are trying to replace me?”

There’s a moment of breathtaking silence. His brothers gape at him as if he was some creature they had never known. And he’s starting to realize they don’t know him, not really. They don’t know about Goliath or Ravi or the Year of Blood. They don’t know about Maya, his sister ( _he has a sister now_ ), or that Talia is alive again. 

Only a few feet separate Damian from his brothers. But it’s starting to feel like a vast, incomprehensible rift he cannot hope to close. His mind is stuck in a repeating litany of _“they don’t know, they don’t know, why don’t they know?”_

“Oh, kiddo.” Grayson gets up, reaching for him. “No… That’s not.”

“Train them, if you wish,” Damian tells them, turning away. “But I will have no part in this - this _farce_.”

Before they can stop him, he snatches up his costume and storms out the door. The cool night air feels like the holiest benediction on his flushed skin. 

Exhaustion hits him for every inch he’s journeyed, for every punch he’s swung. His body begs him to rest, to lay his head down, to stop moving for pity’s sake. He shrugs on his tunic, sticks on his mask, and pulls on his hood. He looks out at the blinking, hazy lights of Gotham city. 

It appears to him like the many eyes of a curious behemoth, judging him to be prey or predator. He stares right back. He does not blink. Climbing onto the railing, he leaps into the air.

Damian has work to do.

.

.

.

* * *

what happens next: Dick, Jason, and Tim gather the Robins to train them, the new Robins plus Jason and Tim are arrested, Dick goes off on his own investigation and looks for Damian


	4. Detective Comics #47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complete re-write of the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have SIX issues, ONLY. Every issue should move the plot along, because you only have SIX issues to tell the story in. How was this issue a complete waste of resources?!?!

There are some things that never change. Damian sits in a cage, hanging some fifty or so feet off the ground, because of one thing that hasn’t changed. Todd was right. He only ever listens to Grayson. 

Damian was in the middle of his investigation. He was reviewing the catalyst of this whole mess: a wannabe, a convenience store, a robbery. That’s how he learned the wannabe was dead. He died with every valuable on his person. He had no injuries indicating an extended struggle. There was no evidence pointing to a violent altercation or a botched mugging. The wannabe... No. His name was Travis. If Gordon wasn’t so busy pretending to be Batman, he would have smacked him for disrespecting the dead. 

Damian allowed a flicker of a smile at the memory. It felt like an entire lifetime ago when he stood in the morgue, calling a victim potato head, and getting an armlock for his lip. Technically, it was a lifetime ago, his death ending his first life and his resurrection starting his second. 

Now, a whole new life later, he was standing in the morgue again. Children should be moving, Damian thought, eyeing the corpse. His name was Travis. His family was firmly middle class. They lived in the more decent neighborhoods of Gotham. He had a mother (divorced), a father (estranged), and a little sister. He liked gymnastics and theater, inspired once upon a time by the acrobatic feats of a certain costumed hero. He certainly looked more suited to be moving, jumping, dancing. It was simply wrong to see him so still, so quiet, so dead.

“His name was Travis,” Damian said. 

Without even turning, he knew Grayson stood behind him and a little to the left. It was an old habit of his, leftover from when they were partners. In the same way, Damian knew Grayson was devastated. A boy died wearing his colors. It wasn’t easy the first time, and it doesn’t get any easier.

“You were right,” Grayson told him. “Everything you said at the safehouse. You were right.”  


“Of course,” he replied shortly.

Grayson snorted, but said nothing. He simply laid a firm hand on Damian’s shoulder. It was a gesture reminiscent of his days with a cowl and a cape. 

Damian leaned into the touch and tried very hard not to miss a man standing literally at his side. But it was different now. He was different now. Grayson was different now. And he did _miss_ them, the way they used to be, Batman and Robin flying over Gotham.

“I wasn’t actually serious,” Grayson said quietly, “about training the kids.”  


Damian turned to him then. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Grayson sighed, eyes never leaving Travis. “I had a plan. I was gonna round up the kids for ‘Robin School’. Then, I was gonna tip off the police. It was a quick and dirty way to get them all off the streets.”  


“The police are running a veritable witch hunt. And you were going to hand deliver the children to them.”  


“You know, it’s really weird to hear you call them children. You’re not much older.”  


“Grayson.”  


Huffing out a laugh, Grayson turned to Damian. “I was gonna have you, Red Robin, and Hood with them. You were supposed to keep an eye on the kids, and take care of them if something weird went down.”

Damian squinted at him. “Why didn’t you inform us of the plan from the start?”

“You know how they say it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?”  


“No. But I’ll keep that in mind.”  


Grayson ruffled his hair. “When you left, Red Robin and Hood started to oppose my idea of training the kids. I had to come clean then. They know of the plan now.”

Damian clicked his tongue, but allowed Grayson his physical displays of affection. “And so do I.”

“Yeah...”   


When Grayson cleared his throat, Damian immediately felt a sense of foreboding. 

“So... Damian...”  


“I’m not going to like what you say next, am I?”  


And he was right. Naturally. 

Grayson beamed at him. “Would you mind getting arrested?”

A couple of hours later, and here he is, babysitting. His only source of comfort is knowing Red Robin and Hood find themselves in the same predicament. It is a very cold and petty comfort, and honestly, not at all comforting. He also has to deal with the grumblings from the wannabes over Grayson’s supposed betrayal.

“You weren’t there,” his cagemate says. He’s the unofficial leader of the wannabes. He doesn’t admit it, but he is. There’s a look about him, something more certain and sure than all the rest playing dress up. He studies Damian now, his stare dark and heated. “You weren’t at the Robin School.”  


“I refused to train a bunch of impostors.”  


“Like you’re so amazing. You’re stuck like the rest us, shortstack!” Another wannabe yells out. He’s very lucky to be in a different cage.

“I came here on request. I wasn’t captured like the rest of you witless fools,” Damian announces coldly.  


“I knew it,” his cagemate mutters. “You’re here to babysit us, right? You, Red Robin, and Red Hood.”  


Damian catches the eye of Drake and Todd. There’s a look of resigned acceptance on Drake and Todd is unreadable due to his godforsaken helmet. But he could see the tension in Todd’s shoulders, the way his arms stuck close to his sides. They nod at him, because Damian’s already widely despised. Let him break the bad news. 

“It’s only appropriate,” he says to his cagemate. “Since children require supervision.”  


“You think you’re _better_ than us, pocketsize?” It’s the same wannabe from earlier, the one who called him shortstack. 

This wannabe has a talent for nicknames, Damian will give him that. He doesn’t reply at first, just glares at him and his stupid mohawk. Then, softly so they all had to listen with care, he starts to speak. 

“The first Robin regaled you with his talk of _guts_  and _glory_. Like that’s what this is all about. Like it’s nothing more than a good romp around the city. And you fell for his sweet talk like suckers.”

He can hear them all murmuring to each other, most scowling at him. He snorts, before going on.

“Travis is dead,” he tells them simply, shortly, with no fanfare or ceremony. All the murmurs hush in the space of a breath. He feels more than he sees his cagemate freeze. Even Drake and Todd perk up, looking at him intently. 

“Did you even know him?” He asks, watching the wannabes around him. “He’s the Robin who killed that cop, the catalyst for all this mess. I was just at the morgue. I saw his body. Travis was assassinated.”  


The silence is ringing now. Damian turns to the mohawk-wannabe. “Yes. I am better. I have to be. You don’t live long otherwise.”

Todd has the gall to snort at this. But then, Damian is smirking too. They both know better than anyone. Failing as Robin _costs_.

.

.

.

* * *

what happens next: the Court of Owls reveal their involvement, the Batboys enact an epic escape, Duke is suitably impressed


	5. We Are Robin #7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Add-on to the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miracle of miracles. i changed nothing in the actual issue. because it was a pretty good issue. i actually really really liked that issue. it was good ol' superhero fun. it was great. so basically the idea was, i fused the 3rd and the 4th together because the 3rd is essentially useless. and this chapter would have been the "4th" issue.

_“Beware... Beware... Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time.”_

This is wrong, Damian thinks. 

He’s lying on the ground, thrown there by a Talon. There’s three of them, huge, hulking things more monster than man. He watches three wannabes group around one. They all look so tiny in comparison. 

_“Ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime... They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed...”_   


“Riko! Snap out of it!”

Red Robin tries to blind a Talon with his cape. He gets a nasty kick to his side. The wannabes tackle another, only to be punched for their troubles. Hood snaps the neck of the third. It simply pulls its head back into place. 

_“... Speak not a whispered word of them...”_

“They’re healing! How are we supposed to fight this? We got _nothing_ , no _weapons,_  no -- !”

 It’s been a full five minutes of nonstop grappling and hitting. The wannabes are slowing down, panting heavily. The Talons don’t let them rest, attacking again.   


_“Or... Or they’ll...”_  

“Dre... Dre, man, can you hear me?”  


 _“They’ll send_ Talon _for your head...”_

Damian looks at the girl. She appears to be about Mizoguchi’s age. Curled up on the ground, she feverishly recites the old nursery rhyme. He looks to the left. Dre, as his friend called him, is lying face down. He isn’t moving, at best knocked out, at worst... A Talon seizes two more wannabes.

They weren’t ready. This is wrong. They shouldn’t have to be ready. This isn’t fair. They’re civilian children. This is war. They’re not soldiers. They’re not supposed to be soldiers. They should never have to be soldiers. This is wrong.

“Enough...” Damian says, as the Talon lifts the two wannabes off the ground. “Enough!”  


But no one pays him any mind. 

He breathes in deep and yells, “I WILL BE YOUR TALON!”

Everyone freezes. It would be comical if the situation wasn’t so dire. Red Robin and Hood are stuck, pinned by a Talon each. They can only gape in stupefied horror as Damian approaches the third Talon, the one holding up two wannabes. 

Lifting his chin up, he stares impassively at the towering monster. Then, he repeats himself, coolly, calmly, without raising his voice. “I will be your Talon.”

“Robin, no!” Hood cries, finally managing some semblance of a protest. “Kid! Stop!”  


Damian talks over him. “Release them at once. You have no more need of them.”

The Talon tilts his head in a gesture very reminiscent of an owl. It studies Damian intently. He could feel its stare burning through its brass-rimmed goggles. After a moment of consideration, it drops the two wannabes. They land with a dull thump on the ground, looking winded and bruised, but generally unharmed.

“What are you doing?” Red Robin yells hoarsely. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”  


Damian doesn’t turn to look at him, keeping his eyes firmly on the Talon. With a tone of pure disdain, he says, “Obviously, I’m making up for your incompetence.”

“Kid,” Hood breathes, struggling to free himself. “Are you fucking stupid? Get a grip! You don’t have to do this!”  


Damian looks at the colossal silhouette before him. He thinks of shadows stretching long and tall. He thinks of capes, black as sin and fluttering in the wind. He thinks of big boots and the way his feet always looked so small compared to his father’s. Damian grits his teeth and pulls his shoulders back.

“Well, come on, then!” He snaps at the Talon. “You’ve got what you came for. Let’s move already! Surely your handlers trained you better than to dally!”  


“Kid! Don’t be an idiot!”  


“Robin! Wait!”  


“... Wait,” Duke echoes feebly. This is wrong. He struggles to his feet. 

But before he can even try to stop them, Robin is gone. Jumping off the roof, he followed after the Talons. He never looked back, not even once. Red Robin and Hood scramble after him. But both are unsteady on their feet. Chasing is not an option.  


Red Hood punches the ground, spitting out curse after curse. Red Robin is eerily silent and still, resembling more stone than flesh. This is wrong, Duke thinks, looking at where Robin once stood. This is wrong.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

“Go home,” Tim says, addressing the assembled army of costumed kids. “Look, I get it. You’re all very brave and you’re all very eager. Believe me. I’ve had my first day too. You all want to prove yourselves. I get that. But you’re proving yourselves at the expense of the city.”  


“You’re not prepared. You don’t know what it takes to be Robin,” Jason announces, his voice pitched low.  


“You said you would train us!” Someone yells in the back.  


“This isn’t about training you! God, just god! We should have listened to him. What the hell? When did the freakin’ ten year old start making the most sense?” Jason breathes deep, then snaps open his helmet, pulling it off. “This isn’t about if you got the skills for it, if you can kick butt and take names. This is about what you’re prepared to give.”  
  
He looks out at the so-called Robins, wearing only his domino mask. “I was around your age when I died. Yeah, you heard me. I died. But it’s okay. I got better. Only after I had to claw my way out of my own grave. Are you prepared for that? Are you prepared to die? Because let me tell you, dying is the easy part. It’s living with yourself after, that’s tough. It’s living with the memory of every night you’ve seen, every horror, every what if, every failure. Can you do that?”

Jason breathes out a shuddering breath. He feels, more than sees, Tim move closer to him. He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. Daring everyone in the crowd to look him in the eye.

“I don’t have time to babysit you. I just watched Robin sacrifice himself because you lot were a liability. God. He was right. You’re a danger to yourself. You’re a danger to others. And you just cost me Robin.”  
  
“Hood,” Tim sighs.   


“We just got him back,” Jason spits out. “We just got him back and we watched him walk away with a bunch of monsters. What is wrong with us? How did we mess up this bad?”   


Tim doesn’t reply. His silence is damning.

“He was right. The little demon brat was right. I hate to say it. But those Talons could have killed these kids. What the hell are we doing, Red?” Jason turns to the assembled - they weren’t Robins, they were just kids playing dress up. “Go home. I can’t afford to spend more time or effort taking you by the hand and showing you the ropes. I’ve got a...” He fumbles here, trying to think up of the right thing to call Damian.  
  
“ _We’ve_ got a brother to save,” Tim finishes for him.   


Jason glances at him, but Tim is looking resolutely forward. He huffs, smirking. “Yeah we do, huh?” He turns back to the kids. “Go home. We’re done here.”

Duke watches them leave, watches them leap into the roof the way most people would skip. They made it look so easy. Duke purses his lips, thinking of green combat boots and fluttering black capes. He thinks of the way Robin, the Robin, the actual Robin, stood with his feet spread and his fists clenched. He thinks about being ten or eleven and staring death in the face, never once flinching. Duke shuts his eyes. 

“WAIT!” He yells out.  


Everyone turns to look at him. Red Robin and Hood stop just a couple of buildings over, glancing back at him.

“I know we messed up! I know we messed up pretty bad!” Duke tells them. “But please! Let me come with you! There’s - I’ve got - I need to tell Robin something!”  
  
“Tell us and we’ll tell him,” Hood says, turning to leave again.  


“NO!” Duke shouts. “I have to tell him myself. He has to hear it from me. Please!”  


Red Robin tilts his head. Duke can’t make out his expression but he looks to be studying him. 

“Kid, we’re not exactly going to have a nice sit down and chat. It’s dangerous. You could die,” Red Robin tells him.  


“I know.”  


Hood is looking at him again. “You’d risk your life just to tell him something?”

Duke shrugs, but doesn’t look away from Red Hood. “Yeah. It seems fair. Since he risked his life for mine.”

Red Robin and Hood exchange glances. There’s a moment of silence as the two appear to have some sort of wordless conversation. Or maybe they are actually talking and Duke just can’t hear.

“...I think I know where the Talons are coming from,” Riko says, speaking up.  


Red Robin turns to her. “You do?”

“Yeah. I can show you,” Riko replies. “But you have to let us come with.”  


“Wait,” Duke says. “I... I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”  


“Please, Duke,” Izzy huffs. “Like we’re gonna let you go alone.”

“Yeah, man,” Dax chimes in. “We watch each other’s backs. That’s how this always goes.”  


“We haven’t even said if we’re letting _any_ of you come,” Red Hood says.  


Duke shoots him a look. 

Red Hood glares back. Then he huffs, shaking his head. He turns to Red Robin. “So?”

“It’ll be faster if she leads us,” Red Robin replies shortly. “But you stick close. You follow our orders to the letter. No ifs, ands, or buts.”  


“Yeah, ok,” Duke nods. He hears his friends murmur in agreement.

Red Robin sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Let’s move.”


	6. Robin: Son of Batman #7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A total overhaul of the issue.

“Look at you. _Circling_ me, waiting for me to pull my hidden weapon. To unsheathe my claws. You’d _like_  that,” March says, watching Dick out the corner of his eye.  


“Actually, I’m waiting for the inevitable ‘why don’t you join me’ speech,” Dick replies. “It’s just part of our _dance,_ isn’t it? We do this _thing_ , and it plays out the way it _always_  plays out.”  


“Does it?” March hums, swirling his drink. “Not always, Grayson. Not always. Maybe this time there’s a little unexpected _turn_  in the dance. Maybe this time things will come out _differently._ Maybe my claws are already _out_.”  


Dick suppresses an urge to roll his eyes. He's got no time for supervillains and their coy act. Seeing an opening, he aims a roundhouse kick at March. The attack never lands and he gets a face full of wine. It burns. 

Stupid, Dick thinks. He should have noticed March never once took a sip. He should have known it wasn’t actually wine. He should have been prepared. He staggers back, clutching his face. 

“I understand you’ve got all kinds of _questions_. You came to me because you know I’m the only one with the answers,” March says, speaking over Dick’s pained groans. “But I don’t have to tell you _anything_. We _did_  want you back. But we don’t _need_  you anymore. We don’t want you to _join_  us. I think our plans will be just fine _without_  you. We just want you to _die_  now. Can you guess _why_?”  


The burn is bearable now, still stinging like hell, but bearable. Dick pulls his hands from his face, glaring blearily at March. The man simply smiles at him in a mockery of paternalistic fondness.

“Don’t want to _play_? Too busy trying to stay conscious?” March asks with just a hint of feigned concern. “ All right, I’ll _tell_ you. Someone _better_  than you came to me just before _you_  did. And made me a most _welcome_  offer.”  


Dick isn’t psychic. He can’t see into the future or anything impressive like that. But he’s been at this superhero gig for a lifetime now. He’s lived through his fair share of ordeals and disasters. He’s developed a kind of instinct for knowing when something bad, something _really bad_ , is coming. 

All the alarms are blaring in his head. He leans on the bookcase, bracing himself for whatever March planned. A panel in the wall opens.  There’s a kid. Small, Dick thinks. The kid is small, still on the cusp of puberty, still waiting on a growth spurt. 

He remembers kneeling in the kitchen, marking the kid’s height on the wall, next to Jason’s, next to Tim’s, next to his line. He had been smaller than the kid at this age. Ten, his mind supplies, no eleven now. The kid’s eleven now. He’s growing up. He’s going to be huge.

“My father is of impressive stature,” the kid had told him then, lifting his chin. “And I, of course, inherited only the best of his genes.”  


“You sure did,” Dick had smiled. “But I’m gonna miss you being little.”  


“Why?”  


“Because then I can’t do this!” 

Dick had picked up the kid and swung him around. There had been lots of yelling. Dick got an elbow to his face at some point. Alfred had came in, raised an eyebrow at both of them.

“Do be careful not to break something,” was all he had said.  


And Dick remembers long nights of hard patrol, when he carried the kid from the batmobile to the bedroom. Dick remembers humid afternoons spent convincing the kid that 3 PM naps were totally an American tradition. Dick remembers holding the kid, remembers the warmth of his skin, the shape of his ribs, the way he seemed so fragile in his arms. Dick remembers because he knows this kid, this small, eleven year old boy wearing an Owl mask.

There was really nothing he could have done to prepare for this.

“No...” He breathes. It’s like that night all over again. It’s like Dick closed his eyes for one second, only to wake up and find everything changed. Damian had died. And he hadn’t been there. 

Just like he wasn’t there when Damian decided to do this. What the hell happened? Where was Tim? Where was Jason? Damian is wearing an Owl mask and Dick couldn’t even begin to understand. There’s a taste of charcoal and iron in his mouth. He feels his heart press against his spine, bone digging into soft, pulsating muscle. His mind rings with a singular thought - he hadn’t been there. _Again_.  


“...Why?” Dick wheezes out.   


“I fixed it,” Damian answers. His posture is stiff and straight. 

He’s nervous, Dick can tell. Because even with all the masks in the world, Dick could always read Damian like an open book. And Damian could always read him. They _know_  each other. They’re partners. Or, they used to be.  


_we were the best, richard_

“Why?” Dick repeats himself.   


“The war is over. I _fixed_  it. Go home.”

Dick stifles the urge to burst out laughing. Now is not the time for a nervous breakdown. 

“Not without you,” Dick replies, a strained smile on his lips. “What? How did you really think this was going to play out? I was just going to - to what? Accept this? Leave you here? With these monsters?”  


“How rude,” March murmurs, looking absolutely delighted.  


“Shut up,” Dick snaps at him, scowling, before turning back to Damian. “I’m not leaving you.”  


“You already have!” Damian blurts out.

Silence follows his words. March looks ready to reach for some popcorn. Dick tries not punch him in the face. He keeps his eyes on Damian. There’s a new degree of tension about him. He seems startled by his own words. 

“I - Kiddo, what? I don’t - ?” Dick starts.  


“You were my Batman,” Damian cuts in, sucking in a breath. “I was your Robin. Then you left. You became Nightwing again. I...” He swallows loudly. “I understood. I did. You needed space, independence. I was just...”  


“That’s not - Damian, no.” Dick reaches for him.  


Damian smacks his hand away. “Whatever. I had Father. It was alright. We... There were some complications. We made it work. But now...” He falters here, licking his lips. “Father is gone. I have to sneak into my own home. Pennyworth replaced me - and yes, Todd was right. Every Robin gets replaced. But I... No one told me _anything_.”

His voice breaks at the end and Dick thinks if someone physically inserted shards of glass in his chest, it would hurt less. His throat dries. He wants to speak but doesn’t even know where to begin, how to disprove Damian, because really what was there to disprove? He had been busy with Spyral. Red Hood was off freelancing. Red Robin had the Titans. Then, the Joker business went down and there was just - they never had time. They never thought to - but that’s the problem here, isn’t it? They didn’t think about Damian.

“I had to learn from a - a friend about Joker. None of you came to - None of you said a word to me. I come back to find this - this _Robin_  movement like I was still six feet under not six thousand miles away. I was just... “ Damian pauses, his narrow chest fluttering with quick, tiny breaths. His hands curl and uncurl. There’s a slight tremor about his spine.   


He’s holding it in, Dick realizes with cold certainty. He’s trying not to cry.

“The first thing Todd tells me,” Damian finally says, “after I came back, the first thing he tells me is that he wants to help the wannabes. Drake asks how to train the wannabes. _You_ never said the wannabes shouldn’t be Robin, not to Todd, not to Drake, not to... not to me.”  


Dick opens his mouth, tries to force words from his tongue, tries to push air out his throat. But there’s nothing. The silence is damning.

March tilts his head, listening to some hidden ear piece. “I hate to break up this, quite honestly, heart-breaking family reunion,” he tells them, not sounding apologetic at all. “But it would seem we have a few intruders trying to sneak in. Talon, if you would?”

Damian freezes for a fraction of a second, before relaxing his stance. All the tension appears to drain out of him. He’s done here. Nodding at March, he turns to leave. Dick lunges at him, grabbing his arm.

“Wait, no! Stop! What are you doing?!”   


Damian glances down at Dick’s hand, before smoothly pulling himself out of his hold. “I have my orders.”

“Orders?” Dick echoes back, incredulous. “Damian, you’re not Talon!”  


“Why not?” Damian fires back. “At least they want me.”  


Dick blinks rapidly, feeling like the very floor was pulled under him. It’s like falling with the gravity turned off. It’s the one moment on a roller coaster when your stomach somersaults. It’s that sensation amplified, prolonged, until it’s all Dick knows.

“Go home, _Gray son_ ,” Damian tells him, walking away. “Don’t you have some Robins to train?”  


Dick watches him leave. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He feels raw, like everything red and pulsing was gouged out of him with a rusty spoon. This can’t be happening, he thinks, over and over and over again. _This can’t be happening_.

“You know what you must do, don’t you?” March says, watching him through half lidded eyes, a pleased smile on his face. “We can make it all good again. All you have to do is say the words.”  


Dick draws in a deep, shuddering breath, slowly turning to face March. 

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

There’s a single, endless moment when Duke can’t see. The tunnels have no lighting, clearly meant for something that can see in the dark. Although, Duke supposes, night vision is a thing. Judging from the way Red Robin and Hood move, it’s something they have. The rest of them chumps are left to fumble their way blind. 

“If there _are_  Owls here,” he hears Riko say. “We don’t want them to know we’re coming, right?”  


His eyes are slowly adjusting. He can make out the blurry outlines of his friends. They’re all crouching low to the ground, with their elbows tucked in and their backs bent. There’s a tension about them, every muscle looking coiled and ready to spring at the slightest provocation. They should be, Duke thinks dismally, remembering the fight on the roof. 

He hears a scuffle up front, where Red Robin and Hood are. Izzy suddenly scuttles back, bumping into him. He’s about to ask what’s going on, when he sees it. The polished, brass frame of a Talon’s goggles peer out at them from the dark.

“I think,” Dax says from somewhere to his left, “they already know we’re here.”  


For a split second, barely a full heartbeat, no one moves. The Talon is deathly still. Duke wonders, for one brilliant moment, if it even noticed them. Maybe if they don’t move and stayed very, very quiet. But then the half-second passes, and the the Talon lunges. Dax shrieks, Izzy curses, and they all dive out of the way.

“Run,” Red Robin tells them. “Move! Move! Move!”

They scramble to follow, dashing past the Talon. It’s too quick, somehow managing to twist around even in the narrow space. It grabs a hold of Dre. There’s a crunch of bone and Dre’s pained shout. Duke knows he’s going to hear that in his dreams for weeks.

“Hijo de puta!” Izzy spits out.  


“Fucking hell,” Red Hood agrees. Then, with little warning, he charges right at the Talon. He lands a sickening punch to its head, pushing it back and away from Dre. He turns back to them. “Go! I’ll hold it off!”

Duke nods shortly, before he grabs hold of Dre and pulls him along. They take off, sprinting down the tunnels. They’re apparently in some sort of air ventilation system. It makes sense since the Court’s operation appears to be underground. Every once in awhile, they pass by an opening and Duke catches sight of laboratories. There’s a bunch of scientists in their lab coats, wearing Owl masks, supervising some kind of cryogenic tank - many cryogenic tanks. 

It doesn’t look promising, to say the least. There’s really not much they can do about it. They're only trying to find Robin. Then, Duke supposes, the superheroes - the actually trained and experienced in combat superheroes - can do their thing. God knows, Duke wouldn’t know the first thing about taking down an enemy base. It probably involves explosives of some kind. 

There’s a sudden burst of gunfire behind them. It cuts off abruptly and with a stillness that seems to resound through the tunnels. They share nervous looks. This isn’t like on the streets. This is nothing like the streets. Usually, even when the bad stuff was going down, they all had an expression of barely restrained excitement. There’s nothing exciting about this. They look at each other and they only see a bunch of scared kids.

“Keep running,” Red Robin barks out. “Don’t slow - aurgh!”

A shadow takes him down. It’s another Talon. Red Robin does something cool and complicated, managing to push it off. Duke wishes he knew how to do that, whatever that was. But first, he needs to live long enough to learn. 

“Go,” Red Robin grunts, dodging a blow from the Talon. “Find Robin! He’ll get you out!”  


“But - !” Riko starts.  


“GO!” Red Robin cuts her off.   


Izzy grabs Riko’s arm, tugging her close. They take off again. They run for what feels like forever. The tunnels twist and turn before opening up to a wide, circular room. It’s well lit and made entirely from white limestone. The onslaught of light floods their eyes, blinding them for a hot second. 

When the searing pain subsides, Duke blinks repeatedly and sees three Talons waiting for them. It’s the same three from before, when they fought on the roof. He swallows, looking around. The room has no exits, none he can see at least. And it’s not like they can head back into the tunnels. They’re trapped.

“I was tired of running anyways,” he hears Izzy huff behind him.  


It startles a laugh out of him, knocking loose some of his fear. He breathes in deep. There’s no way out but through, he thinks, settling into a fighting stance. He glances at his friends. Their faces are resigned but determined. They nod at him. If they’re going down, they’re going down swinging. Duke really wishes they thought of some cool battle cry, something like, “Titans, go!” or “Avengers, assemble!” But they don’t have anything like that.

“Let’s do this,” Duke simply says, before running at the Talons.  


There’s a rallying shout behind him as all his friends attack. The fight lasts five minutes, six if he’s being generous. They’re scrappy and desperate but the Talons are huge with some kind of self-regeneration power. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. With massive, tree trunk arms, the Talons snatch them up and crush the life out of them. Duke feels his ribs grind and bend in ways he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to.

“Let them down! You idiots! Let them down!” Duke hears a thin voice cry out. “Let them learn.”  


Automatically, the Talons release them. They fall to the ground, heaving and gasping for air. Duke looks up and sees the kid. He’s still wearing his Robin gear, but he’s got an Owl mask now. He’s flanked by two more Talons, one carrying Red Hood, another carrying Red Robin. They’re both unconscious, dripping red all over the floor. Duke swallows thickly, wetting his lips.

“Kid,” he wheezes out.   


“Drop them,” the kid orders. 

The Talons dump Red Robin and Hood on the ground. They don’t make a sound, not even a pained groan.  


“Listen, kid,” Duke says, slowly rising to his feet.   


“You see how the originals fared!” The kid announces, gesturing at the bodies at his feet. “Do you really think _pathetic_  copies will do any better?”  


“We’re not here to fight you!” Duke yells.  


“Then go home!” The kid shouts back.  


“No!” Duke snarls in frustration. “Wait! Just... Hear me out! For one second! I need you to hear me out!”

“There’s nothing more to say,” the kid replies. Then, he _moves_. He’s quick. He’s lethal. He punches Duke in the face.   


It feels like his nose just got shoved into his brain. The pain is immense, a thick haze of red clouding his thoughts. Duke goes down, falling onto his back. Distantly, he hears the horrified cries of his friends.

“Fuck it!” Izzy screams. “We’re going to drag you back, if we have to break both your legs to do it!”  


“You can try,” the kid replies, shortly.  


Duke is useless. Dark spots flicker in his vision as he clutches his surely broken nose. He can only listen to the flurry of noises - the sound of boots hitting thick bodies, pained grunts and groans, followed by heavy thumps. Then, there’s empty silence. 

“There. I have done what needed to be done. We will return to the Court.”  


Duke hears the slightest shifting of cloth and brass. Footsteps pad across the floor. It can’t end like this, he thinks. Red Robin, Red Hood, _his friends_ , they came all the way here. He can’t just let the kid leave again. He’s got to do something, _anything_.

“No,” he says, more to himself than to anybody else. Pushing himself off the ground, he unsteadily stands back up. “I ain’t done. So this ain’t done.”

The Talons have left, dismissed by the kid. It’s only him and Duke now. They stare at each other. The silence has congealed to a palpable thing, heavily bearing down on them. 

“Tt,” the kid clicks his tongue. “Why won’t you stay down?”  


“I’ve got something to say to you.”

“I don’t care.”  


The kid charges forward, throwing out a punch. Duke dodges awkwardly, with about as much grace as a drunk duck. 

"Listen, man!” Duke yells out. “You have been nothing but a condescending, arrogant, violent little prick. You have done nothing but insult and belittle us since this whole damn thing started. _I don't like you_. But you're right."

The kid shifts to the right and lands a solid kick to his side. Duke grunts, staggering to the left. He trips over his feet and falls back to the floor. He hisses out a breath, sparks of pain racing up his spine. He keeps talking.

“We’ve got no _business_ running around Gotham like we know what we’re doing! Because we don’t! We’re not trained! We’re not experienced! We’re not anything! And all that’s gotten us is two, dead kids. We’re just _killing_ ourselves out there! And that’s not...” Duke clenches his fist, wiping some of the blood dribbling from his face. “That’s not what Robin is about.”


	7. Robin War Part 2

“Robin,” Duke says, rising to his feet, “is a hero. He is not a sacrifice. He is not another dead kid. He is definitely not a Talon. He swings from the rooftops and he saves the day. He fights the bad guys. He doesn’t join them. He doesn’t let them win, not like this, never like this.”

The kid lunges for him, landing a solid punch to Duke’s gut. Duke grits his teeth, before clamping his hands on the kid’s fist, refusing to let him go. He forces the kid to look at him.  
  
“You can’t do this, man. You can’t just up and sacrifice yourself like this!”  
  
“Shut up!” The kid yells out, before breaking Duke’s hold and kicking him away.

Duke grunts, landing heavily on the ground. Everything hurts. He’s probably got a broken rib. His face won’t stop bleeding. Digging his nails in the ground, he pushes himself back to his feet. He faces the kid again.

“We’ve had enough sacrifices! All that ever leads to is another goddamn tragedy, and I'm so sick of tragedies! You don't need to go on adding another! You don’t get to bail out on us! We need you!”

“SHUT UP!” The kid shouts back and lands a solid uppercut to his chin.

Duke falls on his ass. He sits there for a moment, glaring up at the kid. “We need you to do your damn job!” He breathes in deep, even though it hurts, even though there’s so much blood in the way. He gets right back to his feet. “Because me, I'm just a kid! I'm not Robin!” He looks the kid dead in the eye. “You are."

The kid doesn’t move. He has gone terrifyingly still. It’s like looking at that bomb again, back in the train tunnel, with the numbers counting down and Duke’s not sure which wire to cut. He doesn’t know if his words got to him. He doesn’t know if he’s gone and really pissed off the kid now. He’s shaking. There’s tremors racing up and down his arms. His guts want to crawl up his throat and spill out of his mouth. He keeps looking the kid dead in the eye.

The kid slips off his mask. And just like that - in one smooth motion - Duke is looking at Robin again. The Robin. The only Robin.

“The Court’s not going to like this,” Robin tells him.

“Man, fuck the Court,” Duke replies shortly, before staggering backwards.

The adrenaline is running thin now. He feels dizzy, like he can’t get enough air. There’s a constant buzzing in his ears. He trips over his own feet and then, he’s falling. Except he never hits the ground.

Robin is there. He’s got his arms around Duke, keeping him up, keeping him moving. “It’s not over yet. Don’t go quitting on me now.”

“Are you kidding?” Duke slurs out. “I can do this all day.”

Robin turns to his friends, all slowly coming to. “Get up. Grab Red Robin and Hood. We run.”

They take off through the many winding passages. In the distance, so faintly Duke just barely heard it, there’s thundering footsteps. It’s the sound of something - many large and no doubt deadly somethings - running, sprinting, chasing them. Duke wills himself to limp along faster.

“Do I want to know what’s after us?” Izzy shouts.

“No!” Robin answers.

“Fuckin’ tell us anyway!” Dax yells out.

“They’re Beserker Talons. The Court was going to unleash them if they didn’t find a suitable Talon. They intend to raze Gotham to the ground, start over, and build something new and completely in their control.”

For a second, no one says a thing. Then, there’s an explosion of vehement curses.

“How do we stop them?” Dre asks, always straight to the point.

Robin shoots them a look. “Is there really a _we_ in this scenario? You couldn’t take on a regular Talon, much less a Beserker Talon.”

“We get it, you’re better than us! Geez,” Dax grumbles. “But that’s not helping right now, is it?”

Up ahead, they see the entrance, enticing light pouring into the dark passageway. They speed up and tumble thankfully into the cool, dewy grounds of Gotham Academy. Panting, they all suck in large lungfuls of air, practically melting with relief. Except for Robin. He remains tense and solid as ever.

He’s glaring up at something, Duke realizes. He blinks and looks up too. The impassive face of RoboBatman stares right back at him.

“Oh...” is all Duke can say on the matter.

But RoboBatman makes no violent moves, no attempts to cuff them where they stand. He tilts his head in something resembling a nod.

“I think you could use some help,” he says in his speaker-filtered voice.

“How did you find us?” Robin asks.

“A mutual friend of ours alerted the police to your predicament,” he replies.

“Grayson,” Robin breathes out softly.

RoboBatman nods again. “He also came with a startling amount of evidence against Councilwoman Noctua. The Robins are now the least of our concerns.”

“Beserker Talons,” Robin agrees. “I don’t think the Court woke up all of them yet. If we move quickly, we can stop them before they have their army.”

“We?”

“I know where they’re keeping the Talons frozen.”

Robin lifts his chin like he’s daring RoboBatman to argue with him. RoboBatman is silent for a moment, seeming to study him. He’s not very tall, can’t be older than twelve, and probably weighs 120 sopping wet. But Duke knows the look in his eye from all the times he’s seen it himself. There’s steel in this kid, something that forces you to look at him, demanding your attention or else.

“Lead the way,” RoboBatman says finally.

There’s a ghost of a smile on Robin’s face. RoboBatman just earned his tolerance and vice versa. Respect, Duke thinks, won’t be too far behind.

Before they can move to leave, Robin turns to Duke. He looks oddly hesitant, something Duke has never seen this kid be. But he is, all of a sudden, unsure and fumbling. He clears his throat and looks at everything but him.

“... Take care of my brothers for me,” he tells Duke shortly, before spinning around and charging right back into the Court HQ.

They wait in tense silence. Every now and again, Duke checks on Red Robin and Hood. He knows nothing about first aid, but he can make sure they’re still breathing. They are, even if each breath rattles and wheezes out their mouths. Duke isn’t sounding much different. His ribs would probably hurt less if they were actually on fire.

The others aren’t much better off. The Talons got a good few hits in before the kid took over beating them up. Red Robin and Hood were the only reasons they weren’t outright killed. They kept the Talons away from them, shielding them, protecting them. Duke squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head.

“We’re... really bad at this,” he murmurs.

No one replies. Everyone just keeps their eyes fixed on the entrance, where Robin and RoboBatman disappeared. They wait, and they wait, and they wait. It must have been at least thirty minutes later, thirty minutes of long, drawn out silence. It’s very telling when no one has anything to say, no witty banter, no smartass comments. 

Just before they go crazy from waiting, an explosion shakes the ground. They feel it more than they hear it. The very earth beneath them shifts under their feet.

“Holy shit,” Dre breathes.

“They did it. They actually did it,” Izzy says.

“That’s insane!” Dax blurts out.

“No,” Duke shakes his head. “That’s Batman and Robin.”

 


	8. Robin War pt. 2: Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extended ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it was up to me, all of Robin War pt. 2 would have been dedicated to Damian and Duke hanging out and walking around Gotham and becoming friends, as you do.

([prequel](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/137475774668/prequel-to-robin-war)) ([pt. 1](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/137586479593/robin-war-pt-1)) ([pt. 2](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/137642060808/robin-war-pt-2)) ([pt. 3](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/137916742128/robin-war-pt-3)) ([pt. 4](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/138177635873/robin-war-pt-4)) ([pt. 5](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/138417826598/robin-war-pt-5)) ([pt. 6](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/138508758133/robin-duke-says-rising-to-his-feet-is-a))

“I know you’re there, man,” Duke calls out.  
  
The alley remains stubbornly silent and empty.  
  
Duke rolls his eyes. “Just come out and say hi!”  
  
A pause, he thinks, for dramatic effect. Then, he hears the faintest “tt”. A shadow drops down from the roof. It’s Robin. But Duke knew that. He’s not half so trained or half so skilled. But come on, he’s not like, an idiot. He can tell when someone’s following him. It’s Gotham. He’s a Gothamite. This is like, basic as far as growing up in Gotham goes. Give him some credit.  
  
Robin stands at his full height. Duke is about a head taller. Robin has to look up at him. Duke thinks that’s a little amazing. Robin’s a shortie. He stifles a snort. Placing a timely hand over his curving mouth, he clears his throat.  
  
“So, who talks first? I talk first? You talk first?”  
  
Robin remains silent, simply staring at him. Honestly, Duke has seen softer looking statues. It’s like the kid got carved right out of granite or something. He’s all straight spine and pointed chin. Duke never thought he’d get to use “imperious” to describe someone. There’s a first for everything, he supposes.  
  
“... Thank you,” Robin says, finally deciding to talk.  
  
And speaking of firsts, Duke never thought to hear that from Robin either. He blinks, a little wrong-footed. “Uh, no problem, man. Any time. I mean, if I knew what I did.”  
  
“What you said back then, at the Court headquarters, I needed to hear that.”  


“Oh! Oh, that. Yeah, it’s cool. I just figured. Well, you know. So, yeah.”

Eloquent, Duke Thomas, very eloquent, he thinks wryly. He must sound like fifty shades of stupid.  
  
Robin raises an eyebrow. It’s almost at Spock levels of eyebrow game. He’ll get there given a couple years and puberty. He nods at Duke then turns to leave.  
  
Duke doesn’t know what possesses him at that exact moment. But there’s something about how Robin held himself - his arms stuck to his sides, his shoulders ruler stiff. It struck him as wrong. Duke couldn’t explain it. But he thinks of the kids at the community center, the ones who show up with carefully hidden bruises and a snarl in their teeth. They always look caught between bolting and collapsing. Robin reminds him of them. And that’s… Duke doesn’t like that.  
  
“Wait!” Duke calls out.  
  
Robin pauses, just before taking off. He turns around, glancing at him curiously.  
  
Duke really doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. In for a penny, in for a pound, he guesses. Swallowing thickly, he asks, “So, uh… Wanna see a movie?”  
  
Now, it’s Robin’s turn to blink. Duke finds it a little satisfying to throw him off.  
  
“A movie,” Robin repeats, so carefully it sounded like a question.  
  
“Yeah, a movie.”  
  
“... In the cinema.”  
  
Duke laughs. “Yeah, in the cinema. You know, with the overpriced popcorn and the overworked employees. That cinema.”  
  
Robin stares at him for a full minute. Then he says, “I’m busy.”  
  
“Psh,” Duke rolls his eyes. “Please, I mean, there’s Red Robin and Red Hood and that Grayson guy. It’s not like there’s an Arkham breakout or anything. They can spare you for like a night.”  
  
“I don’t…want to…” Robin says, but Duke catches the hint of uncertainty in his tone.  
  
He smiles. “Come on. The new Star Wars is out. I hear it’s pretty good.”  
  
“Star Wars.”  
  
“You know - a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.” Duke clears his throat, adopting a falsetto. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”  
  
Robin gifts him with a look so flat, Duke could build a house on it.  
  
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”  
  
“Apparently it involves a galaxy far, far away,” Robin replies.  
  
Duke snorts. “I cannot believe this. How do you not know Star Wars? It’s like the quintessential sci-fi series. What? Don’t tell me. You were raised in a cave.”  
  
“Actually, it was an uncharted island.”  
  
Duke stares at him, before shaking his head. “Dude, you’ve got to see it.”  
  
“No, I don’t have to do anything,” then Robin adds sarcastically, “dude.”  
  
Duke sticks out his lower lip and nods. Alright, well if the kid was going to be difficult about it. It’s time to pull out the big guns. This trick always works on the little ones.

“You’d be a tool if you don’t,” he says simply.

“A tool,” Robin echoes, pinching his brow.

“Oh yeah,” Duke smirks, turning on his heel, “such a tool,” 

He exits the alley, confident Robin will follow. Robin does and Duke deftly hides a triumphant smile in a fake cough.

“Tt. I am not a tool, Duke Thomas.”

“Man, just call me Duke.”

* * *

Going to the movies with Robin is a little surreal. Robin isn’t even in civilian clothing. He’s rocking the full red, green, and yellow. No one looks at them twice. They probably figure he’s just a Robin, not the Robin. Duke feels a little weird about that. The name got stripped of its prestige, all because him and a bunch of wise guys decided to play hero. 

Robin doesn’t say anything about the lack of attention. He doesn’t say much at all. He just kinda hovers behind Duke, letting him take the lead. This is the kid who charged into the Court HQ. This is the kid who volunteered to be Talon. This is the kid who took on all the other Robins and RoboBatman, then won. But the intricacies of purchasing movie tickets seem to daunt him. It’s surreal. Watching Robin stare blankly at the array of candies and chocolates, Duke thinks it’s also a little sad. 

Sure, he’s Robin, but he’s also like, what? Eleven? Twelve? And he’s acting like he’s never been to the movies. With a sharp twinge in his chest, Duke walks over and picks out a pack of Twizzlers. 

“These are good. You should try these,” he says, handing it over.

Robin takes it, turning the snack over in his hands. “Licorice?”

“It’s good. Trust me.”

Robin clicks his tongue. But he buys it. Duke feels something like triumph bloom in chest. Weird. 

When they get around to actually watching the movie, things go pretty well. Robin got eerily tense whenever Kylo Ren showed up. But mostly, he just makes small noises, like scoffs of disdain and huffs of approval. During the temper tantrum scene, when Kylo Ren wrecks a console with his lightsaber, Robin clicks his tongue and spits out, “Fool.” 

Duke hums in agreement. “Yeah, the guy’s a complete tool.”

Robin glances at him. “I said fool, but I suppose tool will do just as well.”

Duke grins, and it may have been a trick of the light, but he swears Robin grinned back. It was a very slight curl of his lips, but Duke saw it.

Something sags between them. Robin leans back in his seat. Duke kicks out his legs. They pass the popcorn and elbow each other off the armrest. Robin whispers snide commentary and Duke laughs so hard, he chokes. Their seatmates shoot them unfriendly looks but neither care. 

Then, the movie turns serious. Robin sits up, going silent and still. Duke notices a tightness seizes his limbs, all traces of ease vanishing. His hands curl into white-knuckled fists. Something severe sets into the sharp line of his jaw. When Kylo Ren plunges his saber through Han’s open chest, Robin jumps to his feet and bellows out a heavy “No!”

The entire theater turns to look at him. Duke hastily tugs at Robin, urging him to sit back down. Robin ignores him, eyes trained on the screen. He remains standing for a minute - two minutes, then all at once, collapses into his seat. 

Duke stares at him, concerned. He wants to ask if something’s wrong. But it would be a stupid question. It’s obvious something is very, very wrong. Duke looks back at the movie, watches Han reach out to Kylo Ren before falling off the walkway. Like the first fingers of frost, understanding crawls from his stomach to his throat. Oh.

There’s an epic fight scene which rouses Robin back to sneering. He’s got nothing but ruthless critiques, complaining about improper sword-handling. Duke offers the occasional encouraging snicker. They both pretend what happened didn’t just happen. 

“I don’t understand the benefits of a lightsaber,” Robin announces, exiting the cinema. “It did nothing a normal blade couldn’t do.”

Following him into the brisk evening air, Duke shrugs. “I mean, it’s pretty much a contained laser, right? Maybe it can do things like stab through metal. That could be handy.”

“Perhaps. But it is an overly complicated weapon for such a simple use.”

“I don’t know, man. I think it looked awesome.”

“Superficial theatrics would impress you.”

Duke rolls his eyes and catches sight of a store display. He grins. “Well, maybe having a lightsaber might change your tune.”

Ducking into the toy shop, with Robin at his heels, he heads over to the Star Wars section. He grabs a pair of LED lightsabers from the shelf. 

“Those are mere novelty items,” Robin scowls.

“But look, it’s got battle action sounds and lights,” Duke replies, only a little sarcastic. “You know, I’ve always wanted an LED one. It looks much cooler than the collapsible, plastic version. I got one of those when I was five. Snapped it in half when I, uh, ‘fought’ against the ceiling fan. Broke the ceiling fan too, now that I think about it. Mom was so not happy.”

“Cease your sentimental babbling,” Robin snaps, yanking the toys from Duke. He marches up to the counter, bypassing some customers, and slaps down a few wadded up bills. 

“Sir!” The flustered cashier calls out, picking up the $200 worth in cash.

“Keep the change,” Robin yells over his shoulder.

Laughing nervously, Duke smiles at the cashier. “Sorry about him. He’s a jerk.”

“I can hear you!” Robin shouts from somewhere outside.

“Good!” Duke fires back, running out the door. An LED lightsaber comes flying at him. He catches it just before it smacks his nose. Glaring at Robin, he says, “Man, you’re a real brat.”

“Man,” Robin replies, in a perfect imitation of Duke’s voice. “I don’t care.”

Duke can’t help but snort. He shakes his head and turns his attention to the newly acquired toy. “You really don’t know the price of things, huh? This was like $20 something. You paid like a hundred. For one.”

“So?” Robin huffs.

Duke looks at him then. “Must be nice to be loaded. Right, Wayne?”

Duke sees Robin jolt, stiffening for a half second. The kid narrows his eyes, pursing his lips. He looks up and down the street, checking for any unseen lurkers or bystanders. Then he nods at Duke, pointing a finger up. It’s his only warning before he starts scaling the building.

“What is with you people and roofs?” Duke groans. He runs to a nearby alley, using a fire escape to climb up. It’s a very pedestrian way to reach the top, but whatever. He’s no Robin. He’s just some guy.

Duke finds Robin standing on the ledge. With his black cape fluttering, the city lights outlining his shadow, the kid looks just like Batman. Except, he’s still holding an LED lightsaber. It kinda ruins the image, just a bit. Duke stifles a snicker.

“So. You know,” Robin says, very solemn, very serious.

Duke breathes in deep. He should be equally as solemn and serious. But the kid thinks he’s like 6 ft tall, or something. He stands with his shoulders thrown back and his chest puffed out. Duke is reminded of kittens, fluffing out their fur to look bigger. It’s less intimidating than it is adorable. But no, he’s got to be serious now, gotta take the kid seriously. 

“Yeah,” he replies, gravely - so gravely. 

Robin turns to him, frowning. “How?”

Duke shrugs. “You know, you and your family didn’t exactly corner the market in detective skills. I pieced it together. I figured out Grayson’s ID too. It’s not like you were particularly obvious, or anything. It’s just, well, I’m good at puzzle solving and riddles, all kinds of mental stuff.”

“Huh,” Robin hums in thought, studying him intently.

It’s probably a bad idea, but fuck it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? Duke is going to get so punched in the face. He represses a wince, but goes ahead and says, “And that thing, back in the cinema. I mean, I already knew then. But that…”

Robin doesn’t move. It should scare Duke more if he did. If he ran at him, swinging a fist. But Robin doesn’t move. It terrifies Duke. Something like the calm before a storm, Duke gets the sinking suspicion that he may have majorly screwed up. When Robin remains silent and still - so freakishly still, he clears his throat and keeps talking. 

“Look, okay. I get it though. I mean, I do. I lost my parents too. Literally. During the last Joker attack, they got infected by some kind of virus, became zombies, and well. They’re either dead or roaming around, amnesiac homeless people. They forgot about me. Like your dad forgot about you. So, I get it, okay? Damian? Can I call you Damian?”

“It is my name, Duke Thomas,” Damian says, finally moving. He turns away from Duke, taking a seat on the ledge.

Duke takes this as an invitation. He walks up, slowly just in case he’s wrong. When Damian doesn’t attack him or bark at him, he takes a seat. “Man, I told you to call me Duke.”

Damian clicks his tongue before going quiet again. They sit like that, looking out at the city. In the distance, they can faintly hear the sound of sirens. Neither move. Some other time, Damian would be jumping to his feet. Duke would watch him swing between the buildings and leap across the rooftops. It would be a call to arms, a signal for action. But now, tonight, they simply sit and they breathe, listening to the hum of a passing car and the laughter of drunk barhoppers.

“This toy…” Damian says, fiddling with the LED lightsaber.

Duke looks down, almost surprised to see he’s still carrying his. He pulls off the packaging. “Yeah, it’s a little dorky.”

He glances to the side, catching Damian’s eye. A smirk curls on his lips. Damian smirks back. He flicks on his lightsaber. Damian does the same. They jump to their feet, lightsabers held out. An impromptu sword fight happens. Duke is very satisfied with the “battle action sounds and lights”. It’s especially pleasing whenever the lightsabers clash. 

He can tell Damian’s having fun when the kid starts pointing out all the ways he’s doing stuff wrong. There’s cries of “Watch your footing!” and “Keep your arm straight!” Then, the snide comments start sounding like genuine instructions. They skid and slide across the roof, Damian shouting out tips and Duke following along. The grins never leave their faces. When Duke goes for a brave thrust, Damian performs a perfect parry and proceeds to disarm him. Duke’s lightsaber goes sailing, right into Damian’s hand.

“Not bad,” Damian says, sticking out his lower lip and nodding. “You’ve got potential.”

“Yeah?” Duke pants out a laugh, trying to catch his breath. “You’re pretty good.”  


“Pretty good?” Damian raises an eyebrow. “I spent years studying how to swordfight. I am not just ‘pretty good’. I am a master.”

“Really? Years?”

“Yes. The moment I could walk, I was handed a sword.”

“Huh,” Duke says, thinking it over.

He doesn’t remember learning how to walk. But he’s pretty sure it involved a padded mat and his dad with a flashing camera. He probably ran into his mom’s waiting arms then went around making a mess of everything he got his baby hands on. He was maybe like a year old, still a chubby, little guy. Duke’s seen the photos. He was a puffball in blue footie pajamas.

Damian probably didn’t look much different. Even now, the kid still has baby fat in his cheeks. Back then, he must have been the picture of plumpness, all soft and squishy. And someone gave him a sword. Duke can’t imagine training a toddler in sword fighting. It’s a toddler, for pity’s sake. But someone did. Damian uses a sword with the ease of breathing, all fluid movement and efficient strikes. He didn’t get that mastery overnight. There had to be decades of training involved, and the kid’s only eleven or twelve. 

Usually, if someone told Duke, “Hey, I’ve been doing this thing since I could walk”, Duke would think it’s a hyperbole. They’re just trying to make themselves look good. But with Damian, well, he doesn’t think Damian is exaggerating, at all. He thinks Damian is being pretty damn literal. Duke pictures tiny hands clenched around a sword hilt and feels a sharp pricking in his chest. 

“You’re...” Duke starts, swallowing. “...You’re really not like us.”

At first, Damian doesn’t reply. He fiddles with the LED lightsabers still in his hands. Then, he says, “Consider that a good thing…” 

Duke is struck silent. He thinks of puffed out chests and lifted chins. He thinks of having weapons for toys and wielding toys like weapons. He thinks of shadows, too long and too big for someone never allowed to be small. Shaking his head, Duke breathes in deep.

“I’m hungry,” he tells Damian. “We should swing by Izzy’s place.”

Damian turns to him, an eloquent brow raised. “Izzy’s?”

“You know, Robina? Ah no, you wouldn’t know. The uh, entry-level Robins had like this IM system. Robina was Izzy’s username in the chatroom. But so, um, remember the girl wearing a yellow trench coat? I think it’s a trench coat. Whatever. It was long and yellow.”

“You are rambling. And yes. I remember her. She had spunk.”

“Huh. Is that a compliment? Did you just say something nice? You did, didn’t you? I heard it.”

“If you keep flapping your jaw, I will remove it from your skull.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Duke smirks, completely unphased. If Damian’s threatening him, then he must be right. He heads over to the ledge. “C’mon, let’s get going. I wanna get there before they close.”

Damian clicks his tongue. “If we must.”

Duke glances at him, clearing his throat. “You know, Izzy thinks you’re cool too. She said, and I quote, ‘Robin’s a mean, little brat’. But I’m pretty sure that’s her version of a compliment. Like, 80% sure.”

He then hops down to the fire escape, cackling gleefully as Damian squawks out a protest. Stopping by a donation bin, they drop off the lightsabers, and Damian is still protesting. Duke doesn’t care. It’s worth every vehement insult to see Damian so flustered. 

* * *

They make their way through downtown Gotham, taking the streets branching off Market. The air smells strongly of marijuana and urine. Homeless vagabonds huddle behind loaded dumpsters and press flat against cement walls. They cover themselves with black tarps, looking like discarded trash. Urban camouflage, Damian thinks, it’s a safety measure. Since no one notices garbage, they can rest unharassed.

It’s clever, really. Damian finds it novel. He’s never been to this part of Gotham. He’s caught glimpses of it, sure, sneaking peeks at back alleys while vaulting across roofs. Or, he foiled some petty robberies in the gaps betweens tenements. But, he’s never taken the time to truly look, to stand at street level, seeing Gotham in the eyes of a weary prostitute. Everything here is novel.

It’s so different from the sharp, sleek business sector, where Damian often frequents. Here, the buildings sag, the very bricks appearing depressed. There’s a thick layer of grime everywhere, like nothing was ever clean, like nothing will ever be clean. But then, he catches a flash of color now and again - giant murals and neon signs, lacquered nails and graffittied names, an impossible flower sprouting on the sidewalk. Everything is dirty, tired, and old, but still alive, still desperately and defiantly alive. 

They reach the diner where this Izzy works. It’s a respectable establishment, Damian supposes. Walking in, he is assaulted with the stench of grease and over-fried fat. There’s a flood of sound - the hissing stove, the chattering patrons, the clicking heels of a waitress. He rocks back, lingering in the doorway. Duke bumps into him.

“Robin?” Back in a more public setting, Duke is keen enough to use aliases again. “What’s - ?”  
  
Before Duke can finish his question, Damian clicks his tongue and shoves him away. He grits his teeth, hands tightening to fists, and strides forward. Duke says nothing more, but Damian knows he’s watching, assessing. He is exceedingly observant, Damian admits, possibly more observant than him. Duke really could have been Robin. He could have been Batman’s partner. His father would have chosen him. 

Forcefully pulling out a chair, he takes a seat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Duke sits opposite of him. He looks worried, but not wary as Damian thought. He doesn’t ask if anything is wrong, not after his initial attempt. That makes him smarter than any of Damian’s so-called brothers. Scoffing, Damian turns away from Duke. A waitress walks by, carrying a platter of assorted meats. The stink of cheap canola oil clogs his senses. He scowls harder. 

“You got something against the food?” Duke prods, squinting at him. “Is it... the smell?”

Damian does not reply. 

“Huh,” Duke frowns in thought. “Well, we can sit in the booths. It’s further from the grill.”

“There’s no need to coddle me, Duke Thomas,” Damian snaps.

“For like, the third time, it’s Duke. Period. And oh my god. Why can’t I just do something nice for you? You have to be difficult all the time. You think it makes you look like some tough guy? It doesn’t. You just sound like a brat.” Duke rises to his feet. “C’mon, man.”

Damian glares at him. Duke raises an eyebrow. Damian sticks out his lower lip, slumping in his seat. He is - absolutely - not pouting. Duke rolls his eyes and walks over to a newly vacated booth. Damian stays sitting for a full five seconds, before getting up and following him. 

“Hey! Izzy?” Duke calls out, recognizing someone.

A waitress, this “Izzy” person, stops wiping the booth table. She stands straight and beams at Duke. “Well, hey! What brings you around here?”

Duke shrugs. “Food. What else?”

“Pfft, yeah, but here specifically?” She pauses, noticing Damian. “Oh. Is that - ?”

“Yeeeaaaaah…”

Damian shoves past them and slides into the booth. It is further from the grill. The greasy stench is fainter here. Duke was right. Damian hunches over, crossing his arms again.

“Uh, Duke? You’re just - what? Hanging out with Robin?” He hears Izzy say.

“Pretty much. I mean. It’s like. You see…” Duke fumbles out a reply.

“Oh, yeah. I definitely see. Which is why I asked.” This “Izzy” girl is very sassy. Damian’s lip uncurls, just a bit.

“Look. The kid, you know, he’s never seen a Star Wars movie?”

“So? I haven’t either.”

“... For the sake of our friendship, I’m going to ignore that.”

“So, let me get this straight. You watched the new Star Wars movie… with Robin.”

“I don’t think the kid’s ever been to the movies.”

“With the over-priced popcorn - ?”

“ - And the over-worked employees. Yeah.”

“... But, isn’t he like - ?”

“Eleven? I mean. I’m guessing.”

“So, how - ?”

“Man, I don’t know.”

“That’s a little…”

“Believe me, I know.”

Damian can feel their eyes on him. He deliberately looks out the window. He is suddenly all too aware of his costume, with its kevlar padding and hidden knives. The Robin wannabes, when they ran around with his name, they dressed themselves in his colors but they still wore civilian clothes - shirts of flimsy cotton and polyester jackets. It’s comparable to charging naked into battle. They essentially had no protection. But then again, children don’t have access to heavy-duty material. Children shouldn’t need access to heavy-duty material. They’re children.

“Duke…” He hears Izzy speak again.

“Yeah?” Duke replies.

“His feet don’t reach the ground.”

Damian blinks and looks down. He frowns. She’s right.

“Oh man, you’re right.”

“That’s - !”

“He’s short, yeah.”

“I can hear you!” Damian shouts, turning to look at them.

They smile - very widely - at him.

Damian narrows his eyes. “I simply haven’t reached puberty yet. When I do, I will have my growth spurt. Then, I will be taller.”

“No shit?” Izzy says. “Well damn, kid. You’re already a terror. I’m almost scared to think of you as a teenager. Let’s just burn Gotham down now to save you the trouble.” 

“She’s joking,” Duke adds, seeing Damian’s frown worsen. 

Izzy grins more. She walks over and slides into the booth. Resting her elbows on the table, she leans forward. “So, you’ve never been to the movies?”

“I had better things to occupy my time,” Damian answers. “Unlike you.”

“Kicking butt and taking names since he was like four,” Duke says, taking a seat beside Izzy. “Months old, that is.”

“See,” Izzy huffs out a laugh. “Now I can’t even tell if you’re bullshitting me.”

“I’m not.” “He’s not.”

Duke and Damian glance at each other. Duke shrugs and flashes him a wry smile. Damian purses his lips, unsure of how to respond. He’s never really been teased about his childhood. His family prefers not to talk about his upbringing - ever. But here, with these two, it’s a topic being casually bandied about. It feels… different, new. Damian doesn’t know the proper words to describe it, which is frustrating. But it’s not bad. 

He’s not exactly opposed to talking about his childhood. It was difficult and demanding, but he’s not angry about it. A part of him, some inner voice sounding eerily like Grayson, says he should be angry, or hurt. But, it was just his life. That’s just how things were. He’s starting to understand what children his age should be like, the kind of experiences he never got to have. But, he’s still not quite connecting it to himself. As if children were a whole other entity. As if he, himself, was not a child.

“But did you like it?” Izzy asks him, pulling Damian from his thoughts.

“I assume you are speaking of the movie,” he says.

Izzy rolls her eyes. “You would assume correctly.”

Damian gives an awkward shrug. “I… enjoyed it. I liked Finn.”

“Yeah. The dude’s pretty cool,” Duke nods. 

“Well, I haven’t seen it yet, so no spoilers,” Izzy tells them.

“Darth Vader is Luke’s father,” Duke says.

Izzy punches him lightly on the arm. “I knew that, nerd.”

Damian glances between them, brow furrowed. There’s some kind of joke he’s missing. But it’s not concerning him, so he cares very little.

“Shouldn’t you be working though?” Duke asks Izzy.

“Eh, I’m off in like five minutes,” Izzy replies, squinting at the clock. 

There’s a faint tinkling sound as the diner door opens. Izzy glances at the new customer and delight bursts from her expression. She jumps to her feet and all but climbs over Duke as she leaves the booth.

“Gimme like a minute. I’ll be right back,” she tells them.

Duke and Damian shared puzzled looks. Damian turns, watching Izzy approach a shabbily dressed man. He appears to be one of those homeless vagabonds. He wears a coat, ankle-length and dark, but Damian can’t tell if it was originally so or if it was darkened by filth. Underneath, he’s got layers of clothing, a jacket on top of a sweater on top of a shirt - all looking well-worn and unwashed. He doesn’t appear to be anyone special, save for the cello case slung over his shoulder. Unlike everything else about him, the cello case is nearly pristine, not a scratch or a dent or any sign of ill handling. 

The man flashes Izzy a smile as she pulls out a chair for him. He takes a seat, setting down his cello case, and she heads for the kitchen. Damian watches the man set up, rosining his bow, tuning up his instrument. Right when he’s ready to play, Izzy returns with a steaming cup. She sets it down beside the man. They exchange a few more pleasantries, “Thank you kindly” and “No problem”, before Izzy heads back to Duke and Damian. 

“Oh man, you guys are in for a treat!” She grins, sliding into the booth.

“Who is he?” Duke asks.

“His name’s Kyle. I’m pretty sure he’s homeless. My boss and I found him digging through our dumpster about, like, a couple of months ago. And my boss is pretty chill, you know? He said to him, ‘Come in! We’ll feed you no problem!’ Then, we did. Kyle was so grateful. But he’s got like no money, right? So, he played his cello for us. It was amazing.”

Damian frowns, wondering how skilled a tramp could be. He’s about to say so, when Izzy holds up a finger, making a ‘shoosh’-ing noise. Offended, Damian glares at her, a few caustic words on the tip of his tongue. Then, he hears the first few notes.

He turns to this “Kyle.” There is such a look on his face. It is not of passion or pleasure, but peace, complete and utter peace. It is the look of Grayson mid-swing, of Father pulling on his boots, of Pennyworth greeting them with food. It is the look of someone finally home. 

Kyle’s thick fingers - smudged black and calloused heavily - move with a certainty and grace Damian didn’t expect. He plucks the strings so easily as to seem careless. But the resulting chords are smooth, with the steady rhythm of a sleeping pulse. It rolls over Damian like a cresting wave, reminding him of lost summers spent in a sun-baked ocean. It reminds him of rainy days stuck in the manor, drinking hot cocoa with Pennyworth. It reminds him of fireflies dancing in the garden, of Titus resting easy on his lap, of lullabies heard right before he wakes.

Then, Damian hears a strange sound. It’s low and guttural, punctuating the beat but still melting into the melody. He opens eyes he didn’t realize he closed. Kyle is doing something unfamiliar, making abrupt noises with his lips and teeth. Damian frowns, turning to Duke and Izzy.

“What is he doing with his mouth?” He asks them.

“It’s beatboxing,” Izzy answers, raising a brow. “How do you not know beatboxing?”

“For the same reason I can beat you flat in 30 seconds,” Damian snarls.

“Beatboxing is a type of vocal percussion,” Duke explains, cutting in before Izzy could reply. “You mimic a drum beat or a bass line with only your mouth.” 

Damian huffs, filing away the information. He looks back at Kyle and watches the way his lips move, how his tongue taps his teeth, the bobbing of his throat with each intake of breath. Damian knows the cello, capable of playing it expertly. But this “beatboxing”... It’s foreign, and strange, and something new - like going to the movies, or playing with toy lightsabers, or sitting in a diner and listening to music. It’s like everything else tonight, different from what he’s used to but not entirely unpleasant. No, Damian thinks, it’s definitely not unpleasant. 

Sooner than Damian would admit to like, Kyle finishes playing. The diner erupts into applause. He hears Duke clap behind him, Izzy shouting out her praises. Kyle bows his head, appearing sheepish and embarrassed. 

“You know, I bet if you ask, he’ll teach you.”

Damian looks back and finds Izzy grinning at him. He blinks at her, keeping his expression blank.

Izzy sighs, a softness about her eyes. “Beatboxing, Robin. He can teach how to beatbox.”

“Why would I wish to know such an inane skill as that?” Damian asks, brow furrowed.

“Because you want to,” Duke says, shaking his head. “And don’t even front. We see you analyzing him. You want to know what beatboxing is? Ask him and find out.”

“Tt. I don’t take orders from you.”

“Then maybe you should get a name change. You’re not a robin. You’re a chicken.”

Izzy laughs and makes a loud, clucking noise.

Damian scowls at them. He clenches his fist and gets to his feet. Slipping out of the booth, he strides over to Kyle. He’s putting away his cello. Damian clears his throat. Kyle looks up. There’s a stretched out second of silence. 

“... I would like to learn beatboxing,” Damian finally tells him.

Kyle raises a brow. “Oh you would, would you?”

Damian briefly shuts his eyes, breathing in deep. He didn’t mean to sound curt. He tries again. “... Please teach me beatboxing.”

Kyle eyes him carefully. He hums in thought, leaning back in his chair. “In exchange for?”

“I have money. I can pay.” Damian reaches into one of his pouches.

Kyle barks out a laugh. He waves a hand. “No need, no need, little man. I’m just playing with you.”

Damian frowns. “You don’t... want my money?”

Kyle gifts him with a knowing look. “That uniform’s the real deal, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so. I had uh… My brother, he was in the GCPD. I know kevlar when I see it. You look more armored than a SWAT team.”

“That has worrying implications for the SWAT team.”

“Doesn’t it?” Kyle chuckles. He studies Damian, looking him up and down. “So, you wanna learn beatboxing, do ya?”

“Yes.”

“Aight. I can teach you some basics real quick.”

“What about payment?”

“Son, if that uniform is the real deal, you’ve paid me thrice over. I should be thanking you for your service. Lord knows this city needs you.”

Kyle spoke easily, but there was sincerity in his words. Despite the domino mask, he manages to look Damian straight in the eye. The sheer emotion in his gaze - a cross between gratitude and wonder - reaches right into Damian. Something warm but heavy settles in the space between his lungs. He feels it glow with each drawn breath. 

“... You’re welcome,” Damian says. He knows it’s the next line in an unwritten script. Except, it’s a role Damian never plays. The words sound off, almost alien, coming from him. But he means it. He does.

Kyle appears to understand. He smiles at Damian. “Now, lemme teach you the first sound I ever learned. It’s called the ‘kick’, okay? First, you gotta purse your lips like this…”

They spend a good ten minutes? Fifteen minutes? Damian is ashamed to say he lost track of time. There’s something about the sounds - the pops, the clicks, the hisses. Damian finds it soothing, in a way. Mimicking Kyle distracts him from the cloying smell of grease. His shoulders drop, his fingers unfurl, and often, his lips curve up. Kyle is an adequate instructor. He keeps Damian trying again and again. When Damian spits out a decent sounding beat, Kyle positively beams at him. Damian feels his cheeks flush, heart fluttering between his ribs. He can’t help but grin back.

“Hey, you two!” Izzy calls out to them. “Sorry to interrupt, but the diner’s closing.”

“That’s alright. We’re just about done here,” Kyle replies. He turns to Damian, nodding at him. “You keep on practicing, little man. You’ll get good, I can tell.”  
  
Damian blinks, swallowing thickly. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Thanks for the burger, Iz!” Duke says, walking up to Damian.  
  
“Yeah man, any time!” Izzy shouts back.  
  
“You want anything?” Duke asks, elbowing him lightly.  “The grill’s about to close.”

Damian wrinkles his nose, scowling.

“Oh, right. The smell,” Duke zips up his jacket. “So, you ready to go?”

Damian clicks his tongue. “I’ve been ready, Duke Thomas.”  
  
Duke groans loudly as Damian heads for the door.

“You know what? Fine. Whatever. Be that way!” Duke yells out. 

Exiting the diner, Damian breathes in the cold night air. It couldn’t be called clean, but at least it wasn’t stagnant and stale. Damian would have preferred to stay out here. Except, the silence of the street feels almost oppressive compared to the noise inside. 

He looks over his shoulder, peering into the diner. Duke is chatting with Kyle. Judging by Kyle’s blush, Duke must be complimenting him. Izzy comes up to them, a paper bag in hand. She gives it to Kyle and somehow, Kyle blushes harder. It must be enough food to last him a week. Kyle says something which causes Duke and Izzy to laugh.

“Heeeeeeey! I’m so glad you’re still up!”

Damian whirls around, looking for the speaker. Across the street, he sees the prostitute from earlier. She’s talking on the phone, a huge smile decorating her once tired expression. 

“Yeah! I just checked my email! And I got in! Yeah! I’m going to college!” She says, laughing.

Damian listens to her excited babble fade as she strolls away. The street is empty once more, and quieter than ever. He stares at the light pooling out the diner. This is Gotham, he thinks. It’s windows lit from within. It’s excited phone calls at midnight. It’s beer bottle wind chimes, and memorials made from spray paint, and corner cafes where everyone knows your name. It’s full, Damian thinks, bloated with so much life and noise and people. This is Gotham. This is the city his father loves with every fiber of his being.

He could love it too, Damian realizes. He doesn’t know it like he knows the island. He doesn’t weave through its back alleys and side streets the way fingers twine together. But he can learn. He wants to learn. There’s so much to learn. He breathes in deep. 

“You have fun?” Duke asks as he steps through the door. 

“It wasn’t unpleasant,” Damian replies.

“You totally had fun,” Duke chuckles.

Damian huffs but says nothing. They start walking.

“Me too,” Duke tells him. “I had fun. We should do this again sometime.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. I know of this place. They serve the best gelato. Also, they stay open - !”

“What is the purpose of all this?” Damian cuts in.

Duke wrinkles his brow. “Purpose?”

“Yes. Why are you - What is your agenda?”

“Agenda? I don’t - Well. I mean. To hang with you, I guess? You know, you’re not bad company. Ornery, defensive, and a total brat. But pretty cool.”

Damian narrows his eyes, examining Duke. There’s that softness again, the very same he saw in Izzy earlier. He’s seen it on Grayson, on Pennyworth, on Father when he thinks no one is looking. Their eyes pinch in the corners, eyelids lowering halfway. Their smile tucks to one side, a haphazard, unconscious thing. Damian scowls, uncertain of how to respond. He’s always uncertain in situations like these, when people show they care. 

“Look,” Duke says, when Damian remains silent. “I know you’re not exactly a kid. But you’re not not a kid either. You know a lot of stuff about fighting and Batman. But, you’re kind of pits at everything else. So, I’m just saying, let’s do this again. Soon, maybe. Sound good?”

“I… “ Damian starts, searching for the right words. “I wouldn’t object … There’s no reason  - !”

A shrill cry pierces the silence. Without thinking or hesitating, they run. They head for the alley where the scream came from. They find a party of drunk twenty-somethings, all men, surrounding someone of indeterminate gender, obviously homeless. There’s laughter and jostling as they take turns kicking their victim.

“Hey!” Duke shouts. “Cut that out!”

Damian says nothing. He doesn’t give them the benefit of a warning. He simply charges in, fists flying. There’s shouts of surprise as Damian descends on them. He knocks down the biggest, bulkiest delinquent with a well-aimed punch.

“Oh shit! It’s one of those Robin kids!”

“Little fag playing dress up!”

“You’re gonna regret that!”

“Tt.” Damian gives them the most unimpressed look. He slides into a fighting stance and, waving his hand, urges them on.

The fools rush at him, shouting out slurs and insults. Ducking a jab, he hears Duke laugh. Then, Duke is there, fitting neatly at his side. He lands a hard kick on a nearby foe. Damian glances at him out the corner of his eye. 

Duke grins and shrugs. “What? You really expect me to sit in the sidelines? Watching you wail on a couple of meatheads? Get real!”

Damian almost grins back, but catches himself in time. He turns away from Duke, fashioning his face into a more stoic expression. He clicks his tongue and says, “Participate at your peril.”

“Duly noted.”

Their assailants circle them as the biggest delinquent returns to his feet. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. He stands a good foot taller than either Damian or Duke, using his height to tower over them. 

“Think you’re some hero, huh?” He snarls. “Lemme show you what happens to heroes.”

Duke and Damian share a look. Then, in total sync, they sock him in the face. His friends jump in to defend him. They’re outnumbered two to six, surrounded on all sides. It’s barely a light workout. Damian is fighting an especially stubborn one, when he notes the glint of a knife. Duke is busy taking care of two. He doesn’t see the delinquent sneaking up behind him. 

“DUKE!” Damian yells out.

Startled, Duke looks up at Damian. But it’s too late. The knife is raised. A yellow blur comes crashing down. It lands heavily on the delinquent, knocking away the blade. Duke whirls around. The yellow blur is a girl, mid-teens, wearing a backpack-cape ensemble. A familiar R is pinned to her shirt. She pushes past Duke and elbows a foe in the face. The fight continues. Damian takes out three, Duke knocks down another, and the girl finishes the last two. 

The almost victim has scampered off. Only Damian, Duke, and the girl are left. They stare at each other. There’s a strained silence. 

Then, Duke clears his throat. “... Riko?” 

The girl, identified to be “Riko”, stiffens up. Damian watches her breathe in deep, squaring her shoulders. She looks right at Damian. 

“I know it’s dangerous,” Riko tells him. “But I’m not going to quit.”

Then, she spins on her heel and dashes off. Duke groans, pinching his brow. 

“She’s always been particularly attached to the whole, you know, vigilante deal,” he tells Damian. “But it’s just… Look, I’ll talk to her.”

Damian glances down, eyeing the defeated delinquents. He looks to the street, noting the other homeless vagabonds. He thinks of the way Riko stood, half lit, shadows carving lines into her face. He thinks of teeth, pressed tight against lips barely closed, straining to be bared. He thinks of handing out free meals, of dashing into a dark alleys, of softness and the way people care. 

“... No, I will,” Damian says, turning to Duke. “The IM system - for the wannabe Robins - it is still functional?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Good. Send out a message. I will speak to them all.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes. The others - Grayson, Red Hood, Red Robin - they gave you “Robin lessons”, did they not? I think it’s about time I also give one.”

“Oh. Oh, wow. Okay. Like hell I’m gonna miss that.” Duke pulls out his phone. He starts tapping at the keys. Then abruptly, he stops. He looks up at Damian.

Damian blinks. “What?”

“You called me Duke. During the fight, you called me Duke. Just Duke.”

Damian feels his cheeks flush. “What? No, I didn’t!”

“Yeah, you did! I heard you!”

“You’re delusional!”

“Nu-uh. We’re best friends now. You’re stuck with me for life.”

Damian raises a brow.

Duke smiles at him, shrugging. “Sorry, man. I don’t make the rules.”

“Tt. Idiot.”

* * *

Duke sends out the message. "Robin's got something to say," he tells everyone. They meet up in the tunnel, where Grayson first gathered them. A lot show up, which is an understatement. There's over a hundred filling the tunnel. It's so crowded that it probably qualified as a fire hazard. Everyone wanted to hear what the Robin will say.  
  
"The acoustics are great, sure. But," Dax says, rubbing his chin. "How are they gonna see him? He's a little ..."  
  
"Little?" Izzy finishes for him.  
  
"I swear," Robin cuts in. "When I get my growth spurt, you are going to rue the day - !"  
  
"Yeah, I'm so scared," Izzy snorts.  
  
"You will be," Robin promises, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Here, this should work," Dre says, tossing down a soap box.  
  
Robin looks at it, then looks up at Dre. "And I am supposed to - ?"  
  
"Stand on it, yeah," Dre replies, attempting to stifle a smirk.  
  
"C'mon, Robin," Duke says. "They won't pay attention if they can't see you."  
  
Robin scowls, glaring at all of them. He grumbles under his breath, something about "foolishness" and "I hate you all." Then, he steps onto the soap box.  
  
All chatter abruptly stops. Everyone turns their eyes to Robin.  
  
Izzy feels someone elbow her. She looks to the side and sees Riko.  
  
"Oh girl," she says. "I thought you weren't going to make it."  
  
"Do you know what this is all about?" Riko asks.  
  
"No. Don't have a clue."  
  
"Is he standing on a - ?"  
  
"Yeah. He actually is."  
  
"Can you guys be quiet?" Dre hisses at them. "He's about to talk."  
  
Robin clears his throat, surveying the assembled crowd. They're all teenagers, with the youngest at fourteen and the oldest at nineteen. Some look at him from behind masks, defiantly wearing the "R" in spite of recent events. He sees Riko out the corner of his eye. She's still in her full crime fighting ensemble. He breathes in deep.

“My… predecessors, they gave you lessons on how to be Robin. I thought it was high time I said my piece. The first Robin, he regaled you about guts and glory. He was lying. If you wish to gain recognition, being Robin is not for you. My… Batman spent innumerable years considered despicable, demonic, and disastrous. Some still think so. There will be people who are grateful. They will look you in the eye and thank you sincerely. They will be few and far in between.”

Robin swallows thickly. “I understand you are some of the grateful. You see the good Batman does. You see how he helps. You see all of it and you aspire to be like him.” Robin clenches his fists, straightening his spine. “Here is what the first Robin never told you. Batman took in his first protege, not so that Robin would be like Batman. But so that he wouldn’t. You wish so much to be like us. You think we could never hope to be like you. You would be mistaken. We - Batman, Robin - Unfortunate events molded us, and we became what we are in the hopes that there will never again be anything like us.”

Robin glances at Duke. “I was recently reminded of a lesson I already knew, but forgot. It is an error on my part, and an error I see you all make. I acted on the belief that I am disposable. That if I sacrifice myself, I will be the last sacrifice, ever. The world does not work that way. Monsters and martyrs are born every day. You think, if you go out there, even if you die, it will be worth it. Batman taught me, a long time ago, it’s never worth it.”

He wets his lips. “If you die, you think you’re making a difference. No. You will just be another tick mark on this city’s long, long list of victims. You will not be the boy wonder, or the girl wonder. You will just be another dead kid on the streets. Wasn’t the whole point of this movement to help this city? You and I both know, this city doesn’t need your help in littering its streets with corpses. It’s never going to need help on that regard. There is enough soldiers in this world, people willing to die for a cause, you don’t need to add more.”

He pauses, exhaling slowly. No one moves, barely daring to breathe. They simply wait, heartbeats drumming against their throat. There’s a tight silence.

Finally, Robin speaks. “... Here is what I learned about being Robin. On my first night, and yes, I had a first night. I was fighting against Professor Pyg. He kidnapped a girl, for some nefarious purpose. She begged me to save her. But Professor Pyg was getting away. I chased after him. I didn’t save the girl. I ended up in need of saving. I was taught then, there is more to Robin than fighting. There is more to Robin than donning a costume and punching out criminals. Here is what I learned. Robin is a choice you make to care.”

He looks at the crowd, staring into the eyes of some. Then, he turns to the side, looking at Riko, at Dax, at Dre, at Izzy, at Duke. “It is about paying attention to people you once ignored. It’s about answering a cry for help. It’s about doing better than you did before, reaching out in a city always caving into itself. My… A friend once told me, the “R” stood for ‘Redemption’. That’s all it is, mercy and kindness and caring and… I wouldn’t be standing here before you, if someone hadn’t given me a second chance.”

Then he tilts his head up, staring at shadows he knows are full. “And because apparently, everyone else suffered a stroke in my absence, I have to be the one telling you this. I know your type, because I am like you in this, and only in this. I know some of you will never quit, no matter how dangerous or futile or straight up stupid it is. But I want you to know, you don’t have to prove yourself. You don’t have to fight. The things you’re already doing matter. Robin means giving a damn about the people around you. And you don’t need a cape or a mask to do that.”

Spinning on his heel, Robin hops off the box. They watch him walk away. His last words echo in his wake. Riko is the first to move, following after Robin. She runs up to him, falling in step beside him. They exit the tunnel.

They don’t speak. They’re almost at street level before Riko sucks in a long breath. 

“I have all the Star Wars movies,” she tells him.

Robin turns to her, blinking in confusion. “What?”

“I… have all the Star Wars movies.”

“... I see.”

“It’s just - Duke told me you liked the new one, The Force Awakens. And I just thought, it’s like… I don’t know a lot of things, like swords. And you don’t know a lot of things, like Star Wars. And maybe we can… trade? Does that make sense?” Riko looks at Robin, studying what she can see of his expression. “We can meet halfway. You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be you. I’ve got this fantastical idea of what superheroes do. And... And you think it’s too late for you. To be anything else but this. I… I think we can meet halfway.”

Robin snorts. He turns away from her, allowing himself to smile. They reach street level. Robin gazes at the city around them, noting the distant lights of towering skyscrapers, the rusty fire escapes full of plants, the forever faint scent of rain mingling with car exhaust. It wouldn’t be too hard, he thinks, to fall for this city. 

“We can hang out,” Riko continues. “All of us, Duke and Izzy and Dax and Dre. Let’s do that. Can we do that?”

Robin turns back to Riko, tucking his smile to one side, eyes softening in the corners. “... Yes. I wouldn’t mind that.  


* * *

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(epilogue of an epilogue)  
  
“Robin… How did you get so wise?”

“... I had a good teacher.”

A bitter laugh. “I’m so proud of you, kiddo.”

“No. Save it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Robin…”

“You forgot about me.”

“... We did. I’m - !”

“No. I said I don’t want to hear it. I’m angry at you. I’m still angry at you. I can’t just not be angry.”

“Okay… Is there anything - ?”

“No. Just. Stay away from me.”

* * *

Partial continuation here:

([here](http://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/post/138900480283/patrickgleasonart-sneak-peak-from-robin-son-of))

Inspired by:

[Star Wars](http://mareena.tumblr.com/post/137486958865)

[Celloboxing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mv7BZNnY0as)

[So that he wouldn’t](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZO5qgs4Px0)


End file.
